


And Darkness Comes Marching In

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 10:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4056466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harper doesn't understand. You join this life? You die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Darkness Comes Marching In

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt from feministbatman that asked if I could write a fic where Harper begins to see that the superhero life comes with more risks than she first thought. 
> 
>  
> 
> Notes: Big thank you to the-crimson-question for being my beta reader.

he first time Harper Row met Jason Todd in person, he stole her taser gun.

       She didn’t even see it coming. She was on a warehouse patrol mission, checking for drug shipments. Pretty simple work, like all of her jobs. Batman, to her frustration, refused to give her something more challenging. The place was bare, cleared out entirely, and after a second check through the place, she headed out to the docks to see if there was anything there. She didn’t spot him until her third lap around the place. He was standing right near the edge of the water, his motorcycle at his side, tails of his leather jacket flapping in the wind.  His mask with expressionless, just a solid red helmet with white pits for eye holes. The Red Hood, in the flesh.

“Sweet,” Harper whispered.

       She didn’t know much about him. Batman hadn’t told her much besides “he’s an ally” and “he’s trouble” which was about as enlightening as most speeches from the vigilante went. She’d worked with him only once before, if chattering at the older teen over the com lines could be qualified as working with him. Their conversations didn’t tell her much besides that fact that he was a smartass.

       Needless to say, Harper liked him.

       “Hood!” She said, raising her hand up to give him a wave. The Red Hood looked up at her. “What’s going on, “ One of his hands dropped towards his pockets. “I-”

       That was all she got out before she got a Batarang to the face.

       It was a good shot. A really good shot. It got her right between the eyes, using just enough force to knock her out, but not enough to break the skin. Harper fell back, eyes closing in what would turn out to be an embarrassing swoon (Red Robin caught it on the warehouse cameras). Her arms hit the ground first, shortly followed by the rest of her, and when her cheek hit the rotting boards, a few splinters dug into her skin, leaving slight scratches (which, she thought bitterly, she’d have to see a doctor for). Red Hood: 1. Splinters: 1. Harper: 0.

When she woke up five minutes later, she’d only have a few bruises, a couple cuts and some surveillance footage to tell the tale.

“What the-” She sat up, trying to ignore her throbbing skull at swiped at her cheek. A small droplet of blood smeared on her gloves. Her eyes narrowed and she fumbled for her taser, not even bothering to look up to see if the Red Hood was still there. “Shit. Shit. Shit. That ass, I’m going to-”

       It wasn’t there. Her custom made “stun you to the stars” taser was gone. In it’s place was a red post it note, taped to her side. Had to be from the Hood. No one brought tape with them on patrols besides children of the Bat.

       She ripped the note off her side, taking little care to keep it from tearing. The handwriting was surprisingly good, something she’d expect from kids at Gotham Academy, not vigilantes who spent their weekends beating up folks in heavy leather. It almost reminded her of calligraphy. It wasn’t a long message. In fact it reminded her of the messages she got from Batman; short, sweet and to the point. The Hood’s just came with extra profanity.

       Stay out of the game; it’ll fuck you over. Go back to the real world.

       She stared at the note for a second. He fucking used a semicolon on a threatening note. Who did that? And that wasn’t even considering the message itself.  How many times had she heard that before. A dozen? At this rate, she should start asking for a quarter any time someone brought it up. She’d be able to pay the rent that way. Harper tugged on the corner of the note, letting it unfurl some more. It looked like the Hood had a Batman complex. This is my fight not yours. You’re going to get hurt. I know what’s best for you.

Harper glanced up at the sky and took in the Bat signal shining in the darkness. Her nightlight since she was a kid.

She had no idea what was best for her. But she knew what was best for Gotham. And that would have to be enough.

       She crumpled up the note, and threw it on the ground. She stepped on it with the heel of her boot, just in case Hood was watching, making sure to grind it into the floorboards. Symbolic. She could build another taser. She couldn’t build another city. And if she lost the city, the life she had so carefully built for herself and Cullen would go with it.

With that thought, she raced towards her personal call to arms.

***

       The Hood watched Harper from the rooftops as she ran off towards the light in the distance. He’d been right; the kid was stubborn. Stubborn as the rest of them. Stubborn enough to get herself killed.

       He looked down at the taser in his hands. It was an impressive feat of engineering. He’d have to give it to Roy to get a look at it. If he kept nabbing them off the kid, she’d quit eventually.

       By the end of the month, the Hood had stolen 5 of Harper’s tasers. By the end of the month, Harper was still working on her sixth.

***

Eventually, it started to become a game.

It took time. Six tasers worth of time. Later, when they looked back on it, neither would be able to place the exact moment that their mutual dislike turned into a grudging respect. Perhaps it was when Harper started leaving traps in her tasers for the Hood to find. Maybe it was when the Hood stopped knocking her out and just seizing the things straight out. It’s possible it started when Harper started returning the Hood’s batarangs decorated in nail polish. Either way, two months after the first incident, the pair had found a common ground, a truce of sorts.

Harper respected the Red Hood, but refused to give up the cape and cowl. The Hood respected Harper, but refused to stop nagging her to quit. And that respect was enough to get them by.

Until Bruce died and everything went to shit.

***

She didn’t believe at first.

How could she? Batman had been her hero since she was small, a man who lurked in the shadows, and brightened the skies as a result. While meeting the man had softened the hero worship somewhat, it wasn’t enough to taint Harper’s childhood perception of the figure. He was a man who could wrestle a lion or stop a flood. An actual knight for the kingdom of Gotham to depend on. A fairy tale. He couldn’t be stopped. He couldn’t be swayed. He couldn’t be killed.

He couldn’t be killed. He just couldn’t.

Days after the collapse, after the antidote and the rubble, she wandered the streets in full costume, desperate to be of use. There were no marching orders; since Batman went under, the communication lines had gone dead and with them, Harper’s source of communication. She’d called Tim, trying to get answers, but his reply had been….lacking.

“He’s dead, Bluebird.”

And what was she supposed to do with that?

She found the Hood in the Crime Alley, sitting on a crate beneath a rusty old fire escape. Harper didn’t recognize him at first, she’d never seen him without his helmet on, but once she saw it lying next to him, it was easy to make the connection. He looked younger than she thought he would, maybe a year or two older than Tim, his hair buzzed on the sides. She knew he was a teenager, that had been clear, but given his voice over the coms, she had always expected someone who looked much older than he actually was. A cigarette hung between his two fingers.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” She spoke without even thinking. The Red Hood looked over his shoulder at her, then glanced back at his cigarette. He tapped it against the crate, letting the ash fall and then took another hit.

“I haven’t for awhile. Moment of weakness.” He let out a puff of smoke then ground the but against one of his kneepads.  “And the moment is gone.” He lifted up his arms in a mock basketball throw and tossed the bud into the nearest dumpster. It fell in easy enough. Grabbing his mask, he moved over enough so Harper could sit on the crate with him. “Why you in full costume, Blue? Haven’t you heard? The crisis is over.”

It didn’t feel like the crisis was over. It felt like it was just starting. Like there was a sickening heat of rage and grief beginning to boil under the pavement, ready to cook the city alive. She pulled her thoughts away from the path, trying to get on topic. Answers. She came here for answers. “Where’s Batman?”

“Dead.” The Hood tried to make the statement casual, but Harper noticed how his fingers dug into the wooden crate he was sitting on. He’d get splinters under his nails. “At least for now, that is.”

“For now?”  
The Hood shrugged. “In this line of business, death isn’t always so lasting.” A small smile appeared on his face with that sentence. It seemed familiar but Harper couldn’t place. It soon schooled back into a blank expression. “Though I don’t think he’s coming back from this one. As far as deaths go, this one was rather over the top. I think he even beat mine.” And there was that smile again. Harper recognized it this time. It was the same smile her mother had worn during her own funeral, her mouth posed that way with glue and makeup. The smile of the dead.

The Hood smiled like a corpse.

“Are you drunk?” She didn’t see any empty bottles, but it was the most logical explanation for the nonsense the hood was sprouting. The Hood jumped off the crate and tucked his helmet under his arm. He walked over to Harper and swatted at her hair. It fell right over her eyes.

“I wish,” he said. “I keep forgetting how out of the loop you are. Don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about any of this.” He gestured to the alley with his free hand before turning back to her. The easygoing expression was gone, replaced by something more lost. Something that reminded Harper of a man who was drowning in his own memory. “This making any sense?”

“It’s suppose to?”

“Don’t be a smartass.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Battarang, flipping it once in his free hand. “Listen. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking he can’t be dead cus he’s invincible, right? Because he never loses?” Harper didn’t say anything. Saying it outloud like that sounded silly. “Well so did I. I believed that he fucking moved the sun, okay? I thought that he could change the world, and maybe, if I was lucky, I could change it with him.”

“What happened?” Some part of Harper, later, would realize how childish she sounded in that moment, standing there in that empty alley. The Hood banged the batarang against the brick wall, snapping it in one firm motion. It split right down the middle, one of the ends sliding under the crate he’d just been sitting on. The Hood lifted up the other half in Harper’s face and shook it once, then twice.

“He failed. He failed me. He failed Batgirl. Failed Robin. Failed Nightwi….Dick.” His voice faltered on the last name. Images from half a year flashed in Harper’s mind, of a superhero unmasked, of a superhero dead. Even though she had never met the man, Dick Grayson’s presence seemed to haunt her interactions with the Bats like a ghost. The Hood shook, like trying to shake off the memory. He then passed the broken Batarang into Harper’s palm. “And now he’s just plain failed.”

“He beat the Joker.” He did. He saved them all, saved Harper, her brother and everyone else who lived in Gotham. That couldn’t be denied. The Hood laughed, a thick and bitter sound.

“He died. Left. That’s enough of a failure to me.” He walked past Harper, heading for the mouth of the alley. “Look, you stay in this life, you’re going to fall in one way or another. Probably into the grave. No matter how smart, no matter how talented, no matter how damn hopeful. And then some asshole, fresh faced and hopeful, will just come up to take your place. Until they die to.” He paused for one brief second and looked at Harper carefully. His gaze lingered on her gauntlets, on her boots, on her mask. “It happened to me.” He spoke that sentence under his breath. Harper doubted he actually realized that he spoke it out loud.  Next time he spoke, it was at a normal volume. “Give it up Harper. I’m tired of funerals.”

Harper watched him as he took a few more steps forward, his pace increasing. Like he was trying to get away as fast as possible. She took a step after him, clenching the broken Batarang tightly in her hand. “Hood! Wait!”

The Hood stopped once more. Harper took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Steady the world that had shifted under her feet. “So, I should just give up then?! I’m just supposed to go back to normal and let folks die? Tell my brother that I’m hanging it up because something could go wrong? That’s the bullshit you’re trying to force on me? Because I’m not interested.”

The Hood looked up into the night sky, at the plethora of Batsignals that decorated the sky since the Bat fell and sighed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out another batarang. In one swift movement, he threw it in Harper’s direction. This time she was ready, catching it with her other free hand.

“I’m not trying to force it on you. I’m just letting you know that you have a choice. We all got choices. Self sacrifice doesn’t have to be one of them.” He turned back ahead. “And Harper? If you keep this up, call me Jason.”

With that he vanished, turning the corner of the alley and walking down into the main streets. A cold breeze blew Harper’s hair back and despite her layered outfit, she shivered. She looked down into her two hands. In one was the whole batarang, unbroken and unbent. In the other, was the broken shard, jagged and ruined. When she gripped it earlier, it had sliced up her glove and palm. Blood now coated the ruined edge, dripping of the corners.

Two choices. Once it seemed so easy to decide. Her life for her city (her brother, her family) was an easy decision.

Now, standing under the mourning lights of Gotham, Harper wasn’t so sure.

 


End file.
